


Fevered

by LadyofAvalon



Category: Provost's Dog - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofAvalon/pseuds/LadyofAvalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosto is ill; Beka is terrified to lose him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fevered

It was so hot, and yet, he was so cold. Rosto knew something was wrong. He had about five blankets wrapped around himself, but he was still freezing. His body was covered in cold sweat, and he was thirsty all of the time. He couldn't sleep, his mind was too conscious. The only problem with that was that it wasn't working enough that he could actually think. Of all the times for him to fall ill, now was one of the worst. He'd sent Aniki and Kora off to Port Legann to retrieve something – he couldn't remember what it was, now – and they wouldn't be back for days. There was no way that they'd be back in time.

He rolled over again, his head aching. It seemed like just his luck that Beka's cat, Pounce, had somehow pushed the door to Rosto's room open just then. The cat padded closer, seemingly curiously.

At this point, Rosto surprised himself, and managed to reach for some paper and a quill and ink that he kept on a small table by his bed. Quickly and weakly, he scrawled a message to Beka.

_Beka,_

_Need help. Ill. Please._

_Rosto_

He tore the paper, rolled it into a sloppy scroll, and beckoned for the cat to come closer. "Pounce, come here," he said, his voice almost non-existent. The cat gave him a disdainful look, but obeyed all the same. Rosto extended the scroll to the cat, whose expression had changed to an 'I-don't-want-to-do-this-but-I-will-anyway' look. Pounce padded just a bit closer, and grasped the scroll delicately in sharp ivory teeth. The cat disappeared again before Rosto knew it.

It seemed like forever before Beka got back – she'd been out somewhere on her day off. He heard rapid footsteps outside, the door slamming, and more footsteps. They suddenly stopped outside of his door. Slowly, the door opened, and Beka gazed in.

The look on her face betrayed her worry, and a number of other emotions that Rosto hadn't expected to see when the situation concerned him. The look on her face was enough to tell him that he'd made the right choice, sending Pounce for Beka.

She hesitated for a moment, then rushed to his side, her icy eyes wide as she placed the back of her hand against his forehead. She withdrew her hand in a second, not looking happy about the heat that she'd felt. For just a moment, her expression became tender and concerned. "Oh, Rosto, what did you do to deserve this?" She asked. He wearily opened his mouth to attempt to speak, but Beka placed her hand over it before he could. "Stay quiet, Rosto. You need your strength."

He nodded, or at least tried to, as a fog seemed to take over his vision. A faint smile curled his lips as he slipped into a less-than-blissful unconsciousness.

The next few days were a never ending haze to him. When his fever spiked, he began to drift in and out of consciousness. The only thing he was really conscious of when he was awake was Beka's constant presence at his side, which he was grateful for. He was grateful for the unconsciousness. It was the only cool release from the blazing fever. But, even so, his sleep was tormented by nightmares. He would toss and turn, night and day. Every time he woke, he was covered in cold sweat, but it wasn't until the last two times that Beka was holding his hand. A healer had been in and out several times, but nothing had helped. His only comfort was Beka's cool hand in his.

It was the middle of the night when he woke next. The sound of soft sobs met his ears. "Don't die, Rosto, please, don't die." Rosto turned his head so that he was looking at her. His hand was clasped in hers, and it was wet. Beka was crying, with her face rested on their hands, which were at the edge of the bed.

"Please, Rosto, don't die. I…I love you." If he hadn't been ill, he would have let out a loud whoop and might have jumped for joy.

"What makes you think I'm goin' t' give up that easily?" He asked. His voice was hoarse and gravelly, but it was there, and Beka heard it. Her head shot up.

"You – you heard?" She asked, her ghost-eyes wide.

"Yes."

"And?"

"I feel the same way." He pulled her close, and kissed her on the cheek. "I'd go for your lips, but I highly doubt that you'd appreciate getting whatever this is." His eyes twinkled mischievously, despite the fevered look they still held. "Thank you, Beka." She nodded and smiled.

"You're welcome, Rosto." He returned her smile briefly before working himself into a more comfortable position and dropping into the first truly peaceful, dreamless sleep in a long time.

Beka sighed contentedly. The worst was over, Rosto was going to get better.


End file.
